


Ocean Frogs

by surveycorpsjean



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Consent, M/M, Marathon Sex, Read at your own discretion, its hella filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's boiling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ocean Frogs

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Океанские лягушки](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12098328) by [timmy_failure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timmy_failure/pseuds/timmy_failure)



> slam dunks self into the trash

Late at night.

Alone, behind locked doors.

Tired, bonelessly tired. The universe on his shoulders.

Be strong, hold your head high.

Protect them, protect them. They’re _yours_ to protect.

Failure, death, _gladiator, our champion –_

It’s a lot to think about. A lot to worry about.

Shiro presses his face into the Altean sheets and breathes hot air, dampening the pillow just slightly. His tight, old jeans pull taut between his thighs, stretched, where his legs are spread, where his knees dig into the sheets.

It’s been a long time. There’s a lot of things on his mind.

Shiro sinks his teeth into the flesh of his left hand, and lets his right slick up his cock with lube. The smooth, seamless metal feels both familiar and foreign – a lot at once.

He breathes in, slicks his hand up, circles the head and back down, slow and fast, practiced and a little sloppy. It’s been a while, it’s been a while.

He sticks his face harder into the sheets, sucks in hard, spreads his knees wider, works his hand faster. Breathes out, slides up, breathes in, squeezes tight.

He can already feel his balls drawing up– feel his cock throb and swell. He shakes out a hushed moan, squeezes his eyes shut, curls his toes. He slides his metallic fingers up – feels himself grow closer, lungs swelling, back arching.

It’s fast, but it’s been a while. It’s-

“-been a while?”

Shiro jumps, jolts, flips around on to his back and hikes up a knee. That _voice,_ it sounds a lot like-

“-you?” He says. _He._ The dark figure leaning up against the wall with a smug smirk and a quirky eyebrow. His arms are crossed, two human ones, but his eyes glow yellow and dangerous. The figure – _he, Shiro –_ grins, “Nice try, but I’m not you.”

“W-What the-“Shiro squirms farther up on his bed, and reaches down to hike his pants back up, “What are you doing here? Wh-who are you?” He can feel his face flushing six different shades of red, but the stranger only smiles.

“Shiro.” He grins, “I’m not you.”

“R-right.”

“I’m the _real_ you,” the figure says, “you, what you want. What you _need._ ”

“You’re that mirage.” Shiro states, swallowing, “From that witch.”

“Yes. No. Doesn’t matter.” The figure pushes himself off the wall, and Shiro’s adrenaline spikes, lighting his hand, a silent warning.

“Oh, put that away.” Dark Shiro rolls his eyes. “And fuck, if you’re gonna’ call me _Dark Shiro,_ just call me Kuro.”

“Kuro.” Shiro growls, “Leave.”

“Please,” Kuro steps closer, hands reaching behind his head, and pulling off his shirt in one swoop, “I can _feel_ how hard you are. Close, weren’t you?”

Shiro swallows; he slides his knee up higher, to hide where his dick still throbs in his jeans. His hand glows a brighter shade of purple, “I won’t repeat myself.”

“Then don’t.” Kuro shrugs, and slides onto the bed, knees first, body smooth and relaxed.

And it’s here that Shiro really sees him, sees how much he does and doesn’t look like him.

His arms are stronger, eyes brighter, but still _Shiro._ They're wearing the same clothes, for fucks sake.

“I’m not you.” Kuro rolls his eyes, “I’m a _better_ you. Get it straight, asshole.”

“Stop reading my thoughts!” Shiro grits, “And go away, before I alert the castle.”

“And say what?” Kuro laughs, gripping Shiro’s ankle fearlessly, and shoving his legs back apart, “ _Ohh no, a really hot version of me broke into my room and tried to jerk me off.”_

Shiro freezes. Jolts straight, electric arousal, wide eyes.

“W-What?” Shiro stammers. His hands tangle in the sheets; he doesn’t move.

“God, you’re slow.” Kuro smooths his hand up Shiro’s calf, up, to the inside of his knee. It’s weird, weird, _weird._ Weird, because it’s _him,_ but it’s not him, and who is he, exactly? Why is he here? Weird, _weird-_

“It’s not fuckin’ weird.” Kuro snaps, “You were just jerkin’ it five seconds ago. What’s the difference?’

“A lot!” Shiro yells, forgetting completely about his hand, about fighting – he’d be more on his game, more alert and ready to fight, if it wasn’t for the wet spot he was currently making at the front of his fucking underwear. Kuro is pressing closer – it smells like the ocean. Like home.

“Stop thinking.” Kuro says, and grips Shiro by the thighs, pulling his ass flush against his crotch so fast, that Shiro can barely register the movement – barely let out a gasp. Kuro smirks, and bares down on him, dark aura, scary, authoritative-  

“Start doing.”

* * *

 

Shiro must be a secret narcissist, because he comes down Kuro’s throat so hard he whites out, and wakes up the next day alone.

He _must_ be a narcissist, because Kuro comes back the next night, and the next one, and the one after that. He keeps coming back, and Shiro stops threatening him with his hand.

Stops threatening. Starts _liking._

I mean, what does Shiro have to complain about, really? He gets nightly sex now, granted, with _himself,_ but sex is sex, I guess.

Kuro doesn’t start off rough. Oh, but he gets there, every night, taking it one step further than the last.

He sucks his cock. He fingerfucks him. He eats him out for _hours_ – ties him up the next night, gags him after that, knees into his crotch and chokes him until it burns.

It’s like that metaphor, about the frog and the pot.

You’ve heard of that one, surely?

If you try to boil a frog, it’ll just hop out. So you start slow; put the frog in cold water, set the heat on low, and slowly, slowly turn up the fire. Minute by minute, until it’s boiling, and the frog is too trapped to escape.

Shiro is boiling.

Burning.

Sinking.

Drowning.

But he doesn’t want to hop out – he stays in the pot, welcomes that dark, lustful version of himself, to bite and scratch.

Shiro would _like_ to call it a dream; some weird fantasy; but the nail indents stay, the hickeys blossom.

It’s real, and scary, but too good to give up.

Like now, as Shiro’s wrists are pinned above his head. His thighs are spread, forced apart, by strong hands. Thumbs dig into the muscle there – dig hard, and bruise. Shiro pants, closes his eyes and breathes more, just to ensure he doesn’t suffocate. His cock bobs periodically, begging for attention. It gets none; only cool air, and cotton sheets.

Kuro kneels behind him, grinning, staring at the reddening handprints on Shiro’s ass. He smacked him _so_ many times, made him count one, two, three, four-

“Beautiful.” Kuro sweeps up a palm to grab at Shiro’s right asscheek – to pull and spread, to stare at his hole and grin, “Real beautiful.”

“Shut up.” Shiro spits, and turns his head to the side, “Shut up and fuck me.”

“Wow,” Kuro laughs, “potty mouth.”

“ _Kuro._ ”

“Beg.” Kuro demands, and reaches up with his left hand to spread his asscheeks even more -  stare, stare, burn holes where Shiro was fingerfucked to smithereens.

“ _Goddamnit._ ” Shiro rolls his eyes up, arches his back, pushes his ass out more in desperation, “ _Please, please-“_

“You know,” Kuro sits up on his knees, bare cock flushing against his ass, “this is the one time you can say _go fuck yourself_ and actually mean it.”

Shiro needs it. _Needs it._

 _“Kuro._ ” Shrio begs, eyes blurring over. It’s all blurring, actually, burning, the desperation settling, the line between insanity and reality crumbling.

“I can feel it.” Kuro hums, and hooks a thumb in his ass, “How hard you are. All the blood in that pretty cock o’ yours.”

“Why,” Shiro pants, “can’t I feel you? L-like-“ he groans, as Kuro grinds his cock against his ass, “-why can’t I read your mind?”

“Cause it don’t work like that, sweatcheeks.” Kuro purrs, “I’m the incubus. You’re the petty human. That’s how this works.”

“An incubus.” Shiro pants, “Are you really?”

“Does it matter?” Kuro purrs, and fucks into him _so_ damn hard and fast, that Shiro yelps and gasps, pulling so hard at the bindings that the headboard bends.

“ _Fuck!”_ Shiro blurts, “ _Ahhn-“_

“Hurts, donnit?” Kuro wiggles his hips and hums, pulls back a little, and back in, “Be happy I used lube.”

Shiro drools, clambers, rolls his eyes back and whines. It hurts, it burns, but the small, shallow thrusts feel so, _so good._ His pride is no longer existent; it’s long, long gone. Long-

“How’d you like your paladins to see you like this?” Kuro ponders, and pushes into Shiro’s upper back, forcing him down like a bitch. “So wet. You’re ruining your own sheets, fool.”

Shiro can’t manage a response. Kuro decides to roll his hips up, and Shiro yells again, more nonsense, more half begging.

“Some leader you are,” Kuro says, before he pulls back, and shoves in, shoves, slams, _forces_ his way so hard, so fast, that Shiro phases out. Loses all sense of time. Focuses _solely_ on how hard he’s being fucked, on the bite marks, the blood, the sharp nails – he rolls his head to look _himself_ in the eye.

Glowing, powerful, scary, _scary._ Is that really him? Really?

“ _Yes really._ ” Kuro purrs, pulls his hips back and up farther – he grips Shiro by the tuft of hair, above his undercut, and pulls Shiro’s head hard, awkwardly. He breathes close, close, close enough for Shiro to get _even harder-_

“How humiliating would it be?” Kuro ponders, “To kiss yourself?”

Shiro doesn’t reply – but he takes the kiss. Takes it, let’s Kuro fuck his mouth open with his tongue, lets him bite hard on his lower lip, lets him suck off the blood.

Takes, takes. Takes his cock hard, _his cock, their cock?_ Does it really even matter?

It feels amazing. It fills Shiro up. Helps him forget, forget, forget about the universe and leading and protecting and death.

No more death, only this.

Shiro rolls his hips back for every thrust, pulls hard at the bindings, drools more, begs more, becomes someone no longer human, no longer Galra, no longer real.

He comes once, untouched, embarrassed, gasping for Kuro to _stop, stop, it’s too much! It’s too-_

But Kuro knows him. Dark Shiro. He _is_ him. The better him.

Fucks him hard, fucks him more. Fucks and bites and scratches, comes one comes twice, breaks Shiro apart, laughs when he waddles away later that night, grins when he can’t even sit down the next.

* * *

 

“Hey, Shiro?”

Shiro looks up, “Hm?”

Keith leans up against the adjacent wall of the training deck, “Everything alright?”

Shiro blinks once, blinks twice. Considers his options, thinks, yes, he’s fine, but no, not really.

“Yeah.” Shiro smiles, all practiced confidence, “Why?”

“You look tired," Keith shrugs.

“Mmm.” Shiro hums, and turns back to the training bot, where it waits for a command. “I am a little. I think we all are.”

“Go get some rest.” Keith gestures, with his head, arms still crossed, “You need it.”

“I’m fine.”

“Shiro.” Keith smiles, “I’m serious.”

Shiro laughs, “Alright, alright.” He sets down the training weapon, “The grasshopper has become the master, I see.”

Keith laughs with him, and for a moment Shiro doesn’t feel too tired anymore.

* * *

 

His body aches. Aches from fighting. Aches from practice. Aches from _this._

He’s not sure where Kuro found _toys_ in _deep space,_ but he’s here, wrists pinned to his collar, thighs tied apart, a vibrator up his ass. There’s so much leather – it chaffs, and stings, but the vibrator keeps buzzing so, so low, slowing driving him towards insanity.

Kuro kneels before him, three fingers up his own ass, head tipped to the side and eyes half-lidded. He’s smiling, but he’s _always_ smiling, always so smug, so coy. A tease.

The toy buzzes, and Shiro pulls against the leather, grunts, whines.

“I hope you’re havin’ fun.” Kuro smirks, and slides his fingers with an erotic squelching sound, “I am.”

“Please,” Shiro begs, and sounds wrecked, “I can’t-“

“You can.” Kuro says, “All night. Until tomorrow.”

Shiro’s heart sinks to his knees, “ _No! P-please-“_

“I’ve made up my mind.” Kuro coos, “You’re jus’ too good, lookin’ like that. What a needy bitch, you are.”

Shiro gasps, fucks his hips up-  but Kuro grins, and comes on his own fingers, gasping and moaning shamelessly. Shiro pulls at his bindings, thinks, _please, I want that, please-_ but Kuro rolls off the bed in one swoop, and disappears into the floor.

* * *

 

He’s left like that. A sleepless night, a night of being so, _so close. So close, all night! All-_

He’s covered in sweat. Eyes burning. Body cramping. His cock is swollen, his balls aching, _everything sucks._

The room smells like Kuro. He’s everywhere, and nowhere. The fresh, teasing breeze of the sea.

When the Voltron alarm rings, all the bindings poof away, but the cockring. Shiro doesn’t have time to dwell on it- only throws on his clothes, and tries not to waddle down to the hangar.

* * *

 

“ _You!_ ” Shiro growls, as he steps into his bedroom, and sees that Incubus lying on his bed. “You!”

“Me~.” It sings.

Shiro stalks across the room, picks him up by the collar, and slams him against the wall, “ _Take it off.”_

Kuro grins, “Ohoho. Someone’s needy.”

He still smells like the ocean, like fresh, new days on earth- but Shiro only growls louder. He squeezes around his throat.

“ _Take. It. Off.”_

“You do it.” Kuro smirks, “You know the magic word.”

“Magic word?”

“The safeword?” Kuro feigns innocence, “Did I not tell you that?”

Shiro huffs – he’s grasping at straws here, his mind so _fogged,_ so full of sick, long, drawn out arousal, of being hard for _so long._ He had to fight this way. Defend _lives_ this way.

Kuro reaches up with his right hand. He smooths it over Shiro’s cheek, and reaches back to prod at his head. He moves close, close enough to speak against his lips.

“ _Say Safeword.”_

“Safeword.” Shiro blurts, and the cock ring disappears, relief and pain flooding back all the same. Shiro slumps against Kuro, smooshing him between the wall, panting into his shoulder.

“Tsk tsk.” Kuro clicks his tongue, “I’m disappointed. I thought you could handle this.”

Kuro smooths his hands down Shiro’s chest. His fingers are electric, powerful, warming Shiro’s body with every press. He feels down between Shiro’s legs, where he’s damp against his jeans. Shiro groans, rolls his eyes back, presses closer.

Kuro coos against his ear, blinks those bright, glowing eyes, and presses his palm in hard, shocking Shiro into gasping, moaning-

He comes like that, unravels, shakes and sobs – the endorphins, the pain, _everything-_ it rushes so fast, makes his knees buckle, makes him fall and gasp against Kuro’s thigh and tremble for so, so long.

Kuro sinks down next to him, flips him over, rips his clothes apart and fucks him into another sleepless night.

* * *

 

“Safeword.” Shiro sighs, the next day, “Safeword.”

Kuro pops up from between his thighs, an eyebrow quirked, looking put out, “Hm?”

“I’m exhausted.” Shiro admits, “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Sure ya’ can.”

“I need sleep.”

“Fine.” Kuro sits up, with a huff, “Be a baby.”

Shiro rolls his eyes- hikes his sweatpants back up, and rolls onto his side, “I’m not young. I can’t do this forever.”

“Sure, okay.” Kuro shrugs, and stands up, “Take all the time you need.”

Then, he’s gone.

* * *

 

Shiro expects him back the next night, but he’s met with nothing but the stillness of his bedroom.

It doesn’t smell like the ocean – it doesn’t smell fresh, and clean, like strong power.

Shiro only shrugs, goes to bed, and sleeps until the hickeys are gone, rests until his ass doesn’t hurt.  It’s good, peaceful. Kuro doesn’t come back the next night, or the one after that.

When a week passes, Shiro expects himself to be back at full health, better than before, now able to focus.

But he can’t.

He hates to admit it; he really, really does – but he _misses_ Kuro.

Er, maybe not _Kuro,_ but what Kuro does.

There’s something therapeutic about giving up control. Not being in charge. Rolling over like a dog and not thinking about anything but the fingers up your ass, the teeth at your neck. It feels _good._

No death. No worries. No universes to save. No evil overlords to kill.

Shiro leans up against the wall adjacent to his bed, and folds his legs up, resting his chin on his knees.

He misses Kuro.

A giggle echoes from across the room,  “Ehehe, I knew you’d figure it out.”

Shiro jolts, almost kneeing himself in the face in a panic to sit up straight.

Kuro stands where he was that first night, arms crossed, smug as hell. It’s him, it’s _him._ Stronger arms, glowing eyes, cocky grin.

“You’re back.” Shiro blurts.

“You figured it out~.” Kuro sings, “Why you need me. Why you’re such a _sub._ ”

Shiro breathes in; breathes in that strong, powerful smell of a demon, and leans back in his bed, looking Kuro in the eye, “Come here.”

And Kuro does, sliding onto his knees, digging his thumbs into Shiro’s spread thighs, kissing him until his lips bleed, until his tongue aches.

Kisses him, drinks him in, fights Shiro, as Shiro fights back.

And Shiro does fight back; does dig his own hands into Kuro’s waist; does grind up with need, breathy moans, sharp fingers, bite back, bite back.

Kuro wrestles him into the bed, and kisses him until he’s gone.

* * *

 

“Ah! _Please!”_

“Be good.” Kuro coos, “Or I’ll really make you cry.”

Shiro screws his eyes shut. He feels the toy up his ass and whines. His hands are tied, _again._ He could probably bust out of ‘em – he could light his hand, and burn the leather, but he won’t.

Kuro smacks his ass for good measure, fucks the toy out, and back in. Rolls Shiro over. Bites his thighs.

Shiro feels used. It’s good.

His ass is full of cum, held in by that stupid toy. His thighs are slick and sticky, his dick hard against his hip. He’s a mess, a real, real mess. Hair sticking to his forehead. Eyes burning, chest heaving, Kuro so, so close.

“Can you feel it?” Kuro purrs, squelching the plug in, and out, just barely, “All of me inside you?”

“Yes.” Shiro breathes, broken.

“Whore.” Kuro states, and pushes the toy in hard with his palm, making Shiro cry.

His cock jumps, and Kuro grins.

There’s a knock on the door.

_Thump, Thump, Thump._

_“Hey, Shiro?”_

It’s Lance. It’s Lance, it’s _Lance-_

Kuro’s grin splits his face, and Shiro turns six shades whiter.

“Y-yeah?” He calls back, hands tightening against the restraints.

“ _You alright? I thought I heard a weird noise.”_

Shiro looks over to the clock, sees the hour, and screws his eyes shut. Yes, yes, night technically doesn’t exist in space, but they have a scheduled sleep time, and Shiro is probably fucking all that up.

He looks to Kuro- who’s _vibrating_ with smugness- and oh, _oh, oh god-_

“Hah-“ he pants, “I-I’m fine! Just working out. Sorry I w-woke you up.”

Kuro straddles his hips, slicks his cock up with his hand, and mounts him, sliding down in one swoop, Shiro bottoming out in a gasp.

His eyes go wide. He bites a literal hole through his lip.

“ _Oh. Okay. You should go to bed, dude.”_

Kuro wiggles on his cock, tips his head back, giggles behind his hand. He looks Shiro in the eye and grinds down, and it feels _soooo gooooood-_

“Y-yeah. I will. Thanks Lance.” He says, and smacks his head back against the headboard with a groan.

He holds his breath, until the footsteps are gone.

“He left.” Kuro coos. He smooths his hands up Shiro’s naked chest. He feels around an nipple, traces his pecs, “You’re big, like me.”

He lifts up on his knees, he drops down, Shiro breaks through the leather restraints. The toy shifts in his ass. His dick _throbs_ inside Kuro-

“Ehehe,” Kuro laughs, and rides him, rides him hard- Shiro tries to grip his waist – _tries_ to make him go faster, but Kuro grabs his wrists in one hand, and pins them high up on the headboard. He’s strong. Stronger than Shiro.

“ _No touching.”_ Kuro coos, “ _Only me.”_

His eyes glow so close. His face is set and stone. _His face. Their face-_

Kuro grinds down, and Shiro sees stars.

 _“Ahh!”_ His voice cracks, wrists going slack, “ _Hah, K-Kuro-“_

“That mouth of yours,” Kuro purrs, “is a real problem, baby.”

He slips closer, and Shiro stares into the vast yellow void of his eyes. There’s nothing to read there, nothing to see, but swirls of light.

Kuro presses their lips together – he leans back, and does it again. He licks across his bottom lip, and Shiro opens up way too easily, way too submissive.

It feels good, the way Kuro kisses him. He’s technically kissing himself, but he doesn’t kiss _like Kuro._ Maybe he is better. Probably, actually.

Kuro grins- hears his thoughts and kisses faster. He sucks hard, licks up the blood where it’s clotting. His hips grind down, and Shiro meets him thrust for thrust. The toy in his ass is a menace, a reminder. Shiro is close, _close -_

Kuro leans back to look at him, look _through him._

“Shit.” Shiro gasps, as his balls pull tight, “Sh-shit-“

“I can feel you.” Kuro purrs, “All of you.” His hand falls down, and lets go of Shiro’s wrists. He traces down to his lips, feels around the swollen wound, and once again Shiro gives in.

Fingers feel through his lips. Two, long human ones, that pet his tongue. Shiro feels spit swell in his mouth – feels his body burn, burn impossibly hot.

Kuro shifts his hips, down, and fucks his fingers in farther, gagging him in the process, touching along the edge of his throat. Shiro’s eyes water – he feels himself fall.

He comes so, _so hard,_ so, impossibly hard, the hardest yet. Kuro purrs and squeezes around him, _milking him_ drawing out Shiro’s orgasm, ruining him.

Shiro gargles around his fingers, gasps, as he’s forced to drool past his lips. His head tips back, the fingers push against the roof of his mouth, around his cheek, fucks in, and out, making Shiro lose all sense of time.

“You,” Kuro murmurs, against his cheek, “are ruining me.”

Then, he’s gone.

* * *

 

The line between fantasy and reality blurs. Shiro grins and smiles to the princess. Pats his team on the back. Fights hard during the day.

Begs to be fucked at night.

* * *

 

This is humiliating. Humiliating, because he’s so hard, because he _likes it._

“Good boy.” Kuro purrs, and runs his hand through Shiro’s hair, “Good kitty.”

The cat ears are completely baffling. They’re in _space._ Just yesterday they were on a planet with _plant people_ and _giant dinosaurs,_ like, where the absolute _fuck_ did Kuro find shit like this?

“Stop thinking.” Kuro growls, “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Well _you’re_ an absolute headcase.” Shiro says, “I can’t believe you made me wear this.”

“You look cute.” Kuro purrs, and runs his hand through his hair again. Shiro kneels on the floor between Kuro’s legs. There’s a tail plug in his ass, the fur tickling the backs of his thighs; the collar around his neck jingles when he shifts. Kuro smooths his hand across Shiro’s cheek, and grins, “Suck my cock, little kitty.”

“Make me.” Shiro spits back.

Kuro accepts the challenge.

He grips Shiro by the back of his neck, like a mother to a kitten. He tugs, pulls, makes Shiro yelp until his nose is close enough to brush his inner thigh. Fingers pry into his mouth, force his tongue pliant, pave the way for something much bigger.

“How’s it feel to suck your own dick?” Kuro purrs, voice raspy, and alien. “It’s every guy’s fantasy, I hear.”

Shiro’s mouth stretches lewdly, feels the burn against his tongue, feels it _more_ when Kuro fucks in. His dick is heavy against his tongue, salty, different from what Shiro’s used to.  Shiro takes it, grips Kuro by the back of his thighs, and _takes it._

He looks up through his eyelashes; he can feel the ears slipping, but it doesn’t matter. For once, for _once,_ Kuro looks a little wrecked, genuinely breathless.

Shiro takes that, and runs with it.

He sucks hard, bobs his head, pushes and pulls and decides to give back, give back for _everything._ Kuro gasps, hips fucking in. He moans, and Shiro’s body _burns._

He wiggles his tongue around and drools around his cock, trying to forget the need between his thighs. You’d think, after all this fucking, Shiro would be tired. Exhausted. He’d never want sex again.

But he’s that frog. The frog that boils.

He’s in so deep, he _needs it_ now. He yearns for it, to be sweaty and spent, to be thoughtless and submissive.

Kuro is running him. Pushing the needle into his skin. Boiling him. Making him _addicted_ to sex.

Maybe not just sex. Maybe it’s Kuro. Shiro is definitely a narcissist- to suck his own dick, to look up at his own face.

But it doesn’t feel like _his face_ anymore. It’s just, _Kuro._

“Fuck, fuck.” Kuro blubbers, “I can h-hear your thoughts you moron, you idiot, haaah-“

Shiro moans around him, and Kuro sobs a _god, fuck yeah-_

He digs his nails in hard- his metal hand too – but Kuro doesn’t complain. His skin doesn’t bruise, doesn’t bend. He really is ethereal, something made _just_ for Shiro.

Shiro sucks him down, sucks him hard, breathes in the ocean smell and buries himself in it. The fur shifts against his thighs. He’s too gone to notice it. The hand on his hair is bruising, but grounding, good and painful and controlling.

Kuro comes down his throat, and Shiro drinks it all.

Shiro is losing himself.

* * *

 

“You look better.” Keith decides, in the showers.

Shiro peeps around the divider to look him the eye, “Hm?”

“You were kinda’ pale a few weeks ago,” Keith says, against the hum of the water, “but now you look like yourself again. Are you getting more sleep?”

“Yeah.” Shiro lies.

“Wow, you actually listened to me.”

“Hey!” Shiro laughs, “I listen _sometimes.”_

“Sure.” Keith smirks, “You’re more stubborn than the princess.”

Shiro rinses the shampoo out of his hair, and smiles, “Well, it seemed like a pretty okay idea.”

“Mm.” Keith hums, and doesn’t say anything else.

Shiro thinks of _him._ Himself. The demon. _Kuro._

His gut twists, and turns. His heartbeat quickens. 

* * *

 

Shiro would _like_ to think he’s used to this by now. Used to whatever weird thing Kuro is gonna’ pull on him.

But there’s nothing like this, this _real._ This, Shiro’s knees hooked over Kuro’s shoulders. Where he fucks in _mercilessly,_ repeatedly, a real sex marathon to test the ages.

Shiro is lost. He’s not sure how many times he came – he lost count somewhere around three or four.

He no longer ascends, and descends. He just _is._ He exists, solely now, to accept everything Kuro gives him.

He feels disgusting. _Amazing._ He’s covered in sweat, slick lube and everything inbetween, a real, honest to god mess.

Kuro isn’t human, of course. His supernatural endurance is a blessing, a curse, lets Kuro keep going, keep _going-_

Shiro grips the headboard and moans, sobs, rolls his hips up and feels Kuro come again, fuck, _fuck-_

“So good.” Kuro pants, thighs meeting thighs, hips rolling, “ _Just for me.”_

Shiro can’t reply. He closes his eyes, and feels himself let go. Let go of everything.

“I’ve filled you up.” He turns to mouth against Shiro’s knee, “Can you feel it? Answer me.”

“Y-yes.” Shiro says.

“Right here?” He reaches down with his free hand to trace where they’re connected, together, as one Shiro. Slick, stretched, overstimulated.

Shiro shivers, “ _Yes._ ”

Kuro grins; he shoves in that finger, just to stretch Shiro further, to watch him open his mouth and sob.

“Ahhh!!  _I can’t, I can’t-“_

“I know, baby.” Kuro pulls out, “I know.”

It's an overwhelming relief, and an empty feeling all the same.

Shiro sags, chest rising, body _ringing._ It’s unreal, this floaty, ethereal feeling of being fucked _so_ hard, so good, that he’s no longer human. No longer responsible, no longer able to live, or die. His dick aches, his ass aches, everything thrums, wave after wave.

He’s not sure how long he lays here, staring at the ceiling.

Hands smooth up his thighs, a soft, warm gesture, before flipping him over onto the pillow, and hauling his ass up, face down.

“ _Kuro!”_ He begs, “ _S-safe-“_

 _“_ I won’t.” Kuro says, mouth against his asscheek, “Just chill.”

“I can’t come anymore.” Shiro muffles, “I can’t.”

“You can.” Kuro grins, and pulls his cheeks apart, diving in to taste himself.

_Fuck._

Shiro yells into the pillow, shouts, and holds the fuck on. Kuro has done this before, but it always _burns_ him, simmers his skin, sets him on fire.

Kuro eats him out in earnest, tongue wiggling, fingers sliding in alongside. He _aches,_ but it’s so, so good, the smooth, spit-slick tongue-

Shiro can feel himself growing hard again – he wants to actually cry.

Kuro leans back to say, “I’ve got you, baby.” His fingers slide in slow, “Don’t you trust me enough? To know?”

“Yes.” Shiro admits, and Kuro grins against him, tongue flicking back in, igniting him, demolishing him.

Shiro squirms, wiggles his hips, slides back and moans garbage. He drools, he begs, he’s got no pride left. He’s broken, rubbed raw. He’s not himself. He’s not anything.

Kuro is so good to him- Shiro’s chest tightens, and twists. Churns, and thumps hard. It smells like him, like earth, the sea, the salt.

The tongue flicks in, flicks out, licks once and then twice. It slides sometimes with fingers, sometimes not. Shiro can’t count – he only feels, until his dick gives a pathetic jolt against the sheets, and his orgasm is _wretched_ from him. It burns, overstimulated, overused.

“Good.” Kuro purrs, and kisses the swell of his ass, almost a little sweet. “Let’s keep going.”

* * *

 

The night continues like that, until the clock ticks dangerously close to ‘morning’. Shiro thinks if he sleeps now, he’ll get maybe an hour or two before Allura calls him.

Kuro wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins. Shiro is beyond exhausted. He needs rest, and Kuro knows it.

Kuro turns, like he does. He moves, to roll off the bed, and disappear into the floor. It’s become something so routine, so normal.  

But Shiro grabs his wrist. He tightens his metal hand and holds on, waiting for Kuro to meet his eye.

He’ll break the routine. For just one night.

“Hm?” Kuro smirks, “Are you not sedated? I must be losing my touch, baby I fucked you _so hard-“_

“Won’t you stay?” Shiro asks, genuinely soft in the stillness of the room.

Everything goes cool; for once, the mood simmers low.

Time stops.

Kuro blinks once, blinks twice. He looks into Shiro’s mind, and Shiro doesn’t even wince. He just waits, waits. He ignores his heartbeat. Ignores everything.

“You’re in love with me.” Kuro states, incredulously. His eyes swell wide, and his mouth grins, “You’re in love with me.”

Shiro continues to meet his eye. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t think. The mood shatters like glass.

Kuro leans back and laughs, laughs, _laughs, “Ahahah!_ Holy shit!” He cackles, “You’re in love with yourself! What an idiot! Ahahaha, what a real, ahah- idiot!”

Shiro doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

Kuro looks him in the eye. He stops laughing.

“Fuck.” Kuro blurts, pulling back his hand, “Shiro.”

He says nothing. Kuro can see his mind; he knows what Shiro can’t say.

“Shiro…baby.” Kuro says, standing up off the edge of the bed, “I…this…”

“Just stay the night.” Shiro says, low.

“I can’t.” Kuro’s voice swells into a genuine tone, “I…that’s not what this is about.”

“What is it about, then?”

“Me giving _you_ what you need. That’s…that’s what this is, Shiro.”

“Then give me more.” Shiro says, and Kuro’s face crumples.

“I _can’t._ ” Kuro blubbers, “I can’t.” He kneels back on the bed – presses Shiro’s face between his fingers, “Shiro…I…”

It’s silent, and tense.

Kuro swallows, so human, so real. He looks at him, yellow eyes, all power. Shiro falls harder.

“I love being you.” Kuro mumbles. He smooths his thumb across Shiro’s cheek, “Love being _with_ you. This body is so beautiful. So powerful. The best I’ve ever been in.”

“Then stay.” Shiro says, “Just sleep.”

“I can’t love you.”

“I know.”

“I can’t stay.” Kuro shakes his head. He bites his lip – looks away, then back. He sighs, “That’s the tough thing about fantasy; it ends.”

He leans closer; Shiro can smell that ocean breeze, that fresh air. They kiss, a press of lips, one that they both initiate together.  The kiss is slow, intimate, the first real one they’ve had. Lips parting sluggishly, mouths opening, pulling, and pushing, smacking low, breathing in. 

Shiro's heart is in his ears, and Kuro can feel it.

Kuro parts the kiss and whispers, “You wake up.”

 

And then he does.

 

He wakes up in bed, heart thumping, sheets at his waist, gasping for air. He looks around the still, dark room of the castle. One bed. One desk. An unlit lamp. A closed window. 

All alone.

No. 

He looks at his human arm; it’s without leather burns, without marks.

No, no, no.

He feels for the bruises around his neck, but there are none. He feels his lips, but there’s no blood. No bite marks.

_No!_

The room no longer smells like the ocean.

Of course. _Of course._

Shiro really is an idiot.

A real, true idiot.

He presses his face into his hands. Chokes back whatever he’s feeling. Breathes in, and out.

You wake up. You wake up.

He looks up and wipes his eyes. He needs to train. To _focus._ To pull his team together. To defeat Zarkon. To destroy his empire.

Shiro’s heart aches.

But one, small thing remains out of place. One, little detail, that Shiro only notices as he’s preparing to leave his room, dressed and clean.

A seashell, resting small and dainty on the corner of his desk.

Smelling like the ocean.

**Author's Note:**

> dont yell at me


End file.
